


eyes half-shut

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dreamscape AU, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Just a little something, at the corner of your eye - wait, what was that, come back...





	eyes half-shut

**Author's Note:**

> Happy SemiShira day or ShiraSemi day, depending on which way you read the month and day lmao
> 
> Have this absolute rubbish, I'm sorry it's as obscure as ever

A footstep. A ripple. Glowing white, spreading out, fading into black.

An echo. The barest turn of a head, the slightest glance over a shoulder, eyes barely meeting, seeking, seeking.

Searching, found.

What do you see? A head of silver, the ends blending into the background. Bowed, face hidden, turned away. Obscured.

But it is quiet. Silent. It is only the two of you. What do you have to hide from each other? Why are you turned away?

Fading, fading, drifting away. You might want to reach out, to grasp hold of, this person, this entity, this sad, lonely being.

Who are you? Won’t you show me your face?

\-----

_A light ahead, glowing, ephemeral. Ghostly. Lovely._

_Lovely?_

_How could you know that?_

_A narrowing of eyes, because it is still too bright to look, though you want nothing more than to look. To see. To understand._

_This glow; a person? A person! Could it really be?_

_In this depth of night where you are alone, wandering helplessly. Could it be, that you’ve found someone, at last – a way out?_

_Dare you step forward, lest it be nothing but imagination, and disappearing into the wind?_

_Dare you try?_

\-----

Again, that faint imprint, that drifting by. That glance, from the corner of your eyes. The one that reveals a little something, maybe nothing, but you always hope you aren’t wrong.

Again! You were sure you saw it this time – your daylight phantom, the wisp that always fades away. Too fast, too fragile; you wish it was more solid.

Did you see a face this time? You are almost sure you did. This time, like the first time, the glimpse of starlight hair, ends fading into night. But there’s more! The arch of cheekbones – no, you’re not lying, you’re _sure_ you saw it – oh, what a lovely memory.

It fades away again, and you’re craving for more, hoping to retain a little more than just the faint imprint of an illusion.

(Surely, not _just_ an illusion?)

\-----

_Wandering, wandering, feet lost in their way. Trudging on, keeping at it, no matter how hard it is. No matter how hard, you try to pull away from your surroundings, to stand out, to be an individual – to become yourself again._

_It’s creeping back up, sucking you back in, you feel yourself, slipping, falling, melding with the blackness._

_Up ahead, you see a glimpse of light, reflected off copper._

_The Nightmare wraps around you, and you are silent._

\-----

It is so bright. Too bright. Always searing your eyes, but you know it can’t be helped – where you are, always lights are shining, always burning away the encroaching darkness. Even when you sleep – the lights are burning, burning. Your one refuge is the canvas strap your sister wove you before they took her. You bind your eyes while you rest – because there is no sleep, not in the haven of light.

Light can be so painful.

Darkness can be such a comfort.

And in the fading spots after you have rested, you see it again! The outline of a figure, weaving, waving, shaking in the air. You do not look directly at it. You watch it in your periphery, at how it shivers like a flower in the wind. How it quavers, like it is about to shatter apart.

You have to blink – and it is gone.

You miss this phantasm already.

(You say this, always say this. But you know, you know, it is yours.)

\-----

_So dark, so dark – light!_

_Right there, at the edge, within arm’s reach; but you cannot move, you are bound, and you can only watch. Watch, as the figure slowly fades out of view, again, again, again. A boy, you think, you know that shine, that glimmer of copper-tinged light._

_You know, you know, how he’s here ever so rarely, while other figures flicker in and out. But those are others, just others. This boy, this one, he’s yours. Yours._

_Your light. Your saving grace. Your tether to the world._

_Can it be called a world? That area of infinite light, that keeps the darkness out, despite the bare bones of goodness that darkness holds?_

_(Rest. Respite. Refreshment. But only if you stay just a little, not a whole while.)_

_(You are evidence, you are proof of what happens if you stay too long.)_

_(You are consumed, until you are but a flicker of what you were.)_

_(Who you were?)_

\-----

A little slip, a nodding of your head, eyes closed a second, a beat too long.

And you see. Encompassing darkness, further than you can see–

Of course. There is no light in darkness.

But wait! A grey area, a patch that your vision is drawn to, for it is lighter than others, and you crawl forwards, creeping towards it – you thirst for it.

Your fingers glide over it, slide off it, slippery and smooth and light. You can’t touch it, can’t reach it, and you are trembling, shaking; so weak.

Gossamer touches upon your fallen form, a bare whisper shifts your bangs. A too bright burning against the back of your eyes, and you’re suddenly awake, gasping.

Your canvas strip flutters to the floor, and above you, the lights glare.

What was it? What brought you back? Your heart is hammering, faster than a hummingbird.

The floor shines at you when you retrieve your canvas, and you spend a second in shock.

Your eyes are shaded with silver, tipped with black. You hasten to rub it away, but it will not leave, and you can hear the thunder down the hall – it is too late, they have seen.

You’ve been touched by a Nightmare, and now you will join them.

\-----

_A terrible tearing, tugging at your being, and you stumble, stumble, flopping along as you are drawn towards – wherever. A twisting, a testing, a burning in your lower half, in what you might have once called legs._

_You trip; splat upon the ground. Melt. Unable to reform._

_You still burn, and far away, you see a copper star, its flame unfettered. Tendrils reach out, coveting, and you– You–_

_You run._

\-----

You’ve only heard tell – legends, almost, and even when your sister was gone, yellow blooms on the back of her hands – you were not allowed to see. But now you see. You see.

You are terrified, and you might pass out.

You cannot pass out. You must not. There is hearsay that if you can fight through the Nightmare and walk back into the city of light, you will be welcomed in. But you cannot sleep.

Sleep is death, in Nightmare.

You catch a last look at your reflection at the door, at the portal, the descending well into Nightmare.

Sloping hair, stoic face, eyes shaded in silver and black. Your Mark. You’ve been Nightmare-marked.

The gates open, and you are thrown into the jaws of the wolf.

\-----

_Bright, bright, bright, you speed along but make no move; stationary._

_You need to move. To get there, to get there, to claim. To reclaim._

_The copper star is yours._

_It is gone. Gone? Gone!_

_Snuffed out, taken by Nightmare._

_You cannot even call out, opening your mouth is drinking in – consuming and being consumed by Nightmare._

_You are blown away on the wind._

\-----

You are asleep. Asleep, but awake. You see the canvas strip, but it does not cover your eyes now, because you need it not – there is nowhere for light, nowhere to look to.

Your eyes hurt, from darkness, more so than light. They close, and your feet pull out of the shackles, gliding.

Where to? Following the trace of a breeze, the smoothness of terrain, the instinct and tug of where to place feet – but you do not need feet, to glide.

You are lost, you are tired. A warmth supports you, as you fade.

\-----

_A smattering of stars; Nightmare’s latest meal. You are guided to it; they glow brighter, brighter, shrouded in white and light and pure, unstained garments–_

_Copper._

_You rush, but it slows you. You walk, it hastens you. You reach, arrive, it is your destination._

_Copper-infused, a deep glow, eyes shaded by silver, tipped with black. Closed eyes. Dreaming eyes._

_If you had knees you would have fallen, but now you shatter apart._

\-----

You see. You think you do. A glowing, ephemeral figure, head bowed, turned away. Eyes slanting, glancing, shining.

Are those tears? Don’t cry; don’t cry. Why do you cry?

Can Nightmares cry?

An outstretched hand – your own? Or theirs? Oh! So light, so fine, so fragile.

Their glow breaks where your fingertips meet; incompatible. Their head lifts, is tilted, wait, silver and fading to black–

Your phantasm, made real, but incorporeal. But you are on the same plane!

Oh, what a sad smile. Please, smile. Don’t look like that. I’ve found you, haven’t I?

\-----

_His eyes won’t open. But it’s better that way. He’s yours, he’s Marked, but if he looks at you, you might melt._

_If you melt, you’ll never make it back. He’s your way out._

_You cannot touch him – light was not meant to touch darkness, and you know, oh you know, you are darkness. You are Nightmare’s child. Adopted no more, but now as a trueborn, not so close to firstborn, but powerful enough. Corrupted enough._

_Please wake up. Let me take you back to the light._

_Copper star, copper star, shining, shining bright._

\-----

Your phantom appears in flickers – how odd that even after shifting perspectives, you cannot see them clearly.

No! No. It’s further away now. You can’t lose it. You’ve lost so much, this is all you have left.

Your legs are lead and moving hurts, you are stationary and it moves away. You want to cry, but in your hands are crystallised silver, its edges turning black. If your tears are Marked, how much more of you will be, soon?

You look for your phantom, but it is gone again. All around you are milling translucent Nightmares, reaching for their Marked. You wonder, what sort of odd companionship it is, it seems to be. If everyone is Marked, has their own Nightmare, why is there no tell of people returning?

\-----

_He’s learning. He’s learning to come with you, to explore and walk with you. He’s halfway to Nightmare, but he’s also closer to being saved. It’s too late for you, you hope it will not be for him, too._

_You must not touch him. With every flick of Nighmare’s tongue, he loses his glow. No longer bright, but dimmer, a flickering candle, and you don’t want to risk it further._

_Come. Come unto me. Let me bring you away. No. No! Don’t be distracted, please, your light fades._

_Copper burning blooming red, orange-gold, bleeding blue–_

_Darling, darling, come away, what else must I say to you?_

\-----

It’s so easy to fall away, to turn away, when you can’t see. You’ve stumbled off the path, felt the trembling of other Nightmares, and it’s not always easy to run. Your shining phantom is more of an illusion, and your eyes are so dry.

You drop a trail of silver-black crystals behind you, and before Nightmare sweeps them, they burn like starlight. You are so tired.

Ah, your phantom, it’s calling again–

It looks like a boy.

So young, so young, not unlike yourself–

Did people age in Nightmare? Who is he? Why is he here, so lost and–

A finger upon your lips, a face so close to your own, and you think his eyes are cocoa brown but he is an illusion, a phantasm, a Nighmare.

What makes a Nightmare? He is so good to you. If only you could touch, and hold on to him…

\-----

_You’re almost there, almost there, at the edge of the citadel of light. Of the ones promised to go back, if they could make it back. But where are the others? Why are you and your Marked the only ones here?_

_You can almost touch him now; his hair is so fine. You covet his light for yourself – not his lifelight, but this copper glow, this breath of perseverance and bravery and constant fight, that kept trailing after you. You walked so far._

_The gates are in front of you, the reapers’ scythes bar the exit. You turn to him; you can cup his face. First time, last time. He does not belong in Nightmare. He must go home._

_You can smell the scent of him, though faded like his light. Camellia and lye. Copper starlight. Your star. Your light._

_You will let him go home._

\-----

The citadel is in front of you. But so is your phantom. For the first time, you see his face. His worry. His care. You see the starlight tipped with night, the reason why you were doomed in the first place. You see the colours that Marked you, that changed you. Nightmare isn’t terrible, not if you don’t stray far.

You feel his arms! They are around you, and you catch a hint of his scent – how odd, passionfruit, and the brine of the sea from a long-lost memory. Is this home?

This is the citadel and I will leave you; a whisper, a promise. You must go home.

You haven’t smelt brine or had a passionfruit in ever. All you’ve known is burning light, but now there is comforting darkness, and the flicker of a gentle glow. You raise your arms to place around him, and you are shocked that he is solid. Solid.

Don’t stay and become Nightmare, he begs. I Marked you by accident – no, not an accident, but I never wanted to condemn you like this. I want you to be safe, like I never was. I am dissolved in Nightmare too easily.

You don’t want to let go. You don’t want him to take it back – that he chose you, and Marked you. You’ve ever known that Marks were bad, but it seems, it seems this is not a nightmare. This is the haven you will never find.

Please, he begs you, begs the reapers. Please.

You’re not sure you want to go. The reapers know this too.

You can be the first who comes home, they tell you. Because all others of the light – they have been corrupted. You are the first whose Nightmare has brought them home.

\-----

_But then is it really a Nightmare, you hear him ask, if I am alive?_

_Nightmare is a passage of growing up. It is not condemnation._

_But you are the first. None, no others, they did not want to grow up._

_You will be the first Blooming, the first success. And for you alone, you will have darkness while others are flayed by light._

_You don’t understand. What is this trickery? Why is this the first you’ve heard of it?_

_But the citadel. You’ve done right, you’ve brought him home._

_I don’t want to go back, he tells them, and the reapers shrug. I don’t want to go back, unless I can take him with me._

_Who, they ask, but their eyes burn; they know, of course they do. And he, your copper star, he holds out his hand, his last silver tear._

_My Nightmare. But he isn’t really a Nightmare, is he? No one here, no one is really a Nightmare, except for the spirit of this place._

_Perceptive, they agree with each other, and the reapers reach out, one for you, one for your star. Scythes are uncrossed, the portal is lit, and the tear is taken._

_Welcome back, they cry. May you find true rest._

\-----

The lights are bright and bright indeed, but better are shocked gasps all around. Hand in hand, flesh to flesh, and you look – up?

The barest distance apart, and you know that black-edged silver, and oh, how cold you are, but he is warm. Arms wrap around you, and you are reminded again, of memories old and new and trials overcome, and shocked joyous whispers all around.

Let them rest, let them rest; echoes down halls and halls. And while the lights are too bright but still manageable, you are shocked when the lights are dimmed – they can be dimmed?

And your Nightmare – not really a Nightmare, but still yours, yours, yours – he sits atop the bed with you, and finally, his eyes flutter open.

Brown. Cocoa. Lovely, rich, overwhelming. You are almost glad you couldn’t see this while trapped in the dark, for then you would never have left. He is so lovely.

He smiles at you, runs his fingers through your hair, sets your foreheads together. You want to smile, almost, but what you really want to do–

Your arms wrap around him, but this time, he’s truly solid, actually real. You still can’t believe it, a dream come true, though first hidden as a nightmare.

I can finally see you; a whisper in your ear. A husky voice, long underused, and you chuckle, rest your head against his.

We’re alive. We’re alive.

A mantra, an exultation, a cheer. He joins you, whispering, whispering, so long, so much, until emotions overflow and tears pour out – wet tears, no longer silver.

I’ve known you so long, but yet never a day.

I’ve known you so long, and know not your name.

Cocoa meets hazel, eyes red-rimmed, faces wet, and there’s the smallest laugh as you set your foreheads together again, collapsing on the bed.

I know you, my phantom, illusion, my leader and protector in Nightmare.

_I know you, my copper star, burning bright despite the temptation._

Hello. Hello. _Hello_.

But the lights are dim, and you are tired, and even with the whisper of more words, more exchange on your lips, your eyes droop – and find sleep, without a canvas strip.


End file.
